


Together

by Vampiyaa



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Academy Era, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Drama, F/M, Humour, Hurt/Comfort, Romance, Time Lady!Rose, Time War Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-04
Updated: 2014-05-04
Packaged: 2018-01-21 23:41:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1568189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vampiyaa/pseuds/Vampiyaa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>First Doctor/Time Lady Rose AU. They grew up on Gallifrey together, ran together, saved the universe together in the type-40 TARDIS they stole together. In the Time War, they fought together and made the decision together. Now, they're the only ones left, but so long as they're together, they can go on.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Together

Together

He was six years old when he first met her, just a toddler with his bum in the air, determined to climb the hill, which looked as big as Mount Perdition itself back then.

Grabbing onto a handful of crimson grass with his fat fist, he hoisted himself up onto flat ground, tumbling slightly but at his goal nonetheless. He grinned, receiving a mouthful of dirt for his troubles, and when he got up to cheer, his spotting the little girl interrupted his planned victory shout. She had a head of ash blonde hair so pale it was almost silver, like the leaves on the weeping tree she was sitting under, and she was still a baby, maybe three or four years old at the oldest. He scowled at the back of her head— he’d spent all this time trudging up that hill, and a _girl_ had to be there. 

“Hey you,” he called at her, putting on his best scary face that he usually reserved when Brax broke something of his.

She turned her head, revealing actual gold eyes. He stuttered, childish curiosity getting the better of him. He wanted to march over to her and stare at her eyes, demand to know why they were that colour. “What d’you want?”

Her accent was lower class and lilting— she was from Arcadia. Forgetting his initial goal of getting her to leave, he waddled up to her and plopped down uninvited beside her, much to her primary chagrin. “What’s your name?”

“Mum says I oughtn’t say my name to anybody but the bloke I’ll marry,” she told him firmly. “I’m gonna be a Time Lady.”

“I’m going to be a Time Lord also,” he told her. “Just tell me what your friends call you. Mine call me Theta Sigma, or Theta for short.”

“I don’t have any friends,” she told him softly, looking ashamed. “We just came here from Arcadia so I could go to the Academy.”

“So then what do people call you?”

“My Mum calls me by my real name, but that’s it.”

“I’ll give you a name, then,” he decided. He pondered for a moment, before suggesting, “Susan?” She shook her head, grimacing. “Bessie?”

“Yuck!” she laughed, picking up a golden flower from underneath her leg and poking at its petals. “You’re awful at names.”

“Am not!” Theta said hotly. Staring at the flower in her hand, he offered as reconciliation, “How about Arkytior? It’s a rose and it’s yellow, like your eyes.”

“Ooh, I like that,” she said happily. “Call me that.”

He grinned conceitedly but stayed silent, eyes locked on the flower slowly losing its petals because of her plucky fingers. “How come your eyes are like that?”

“Mum said I was born with them,” she said smugly, fluttering her silver lashes at him. 

“You weren’t Loomed?” he asked in awe, reaching out a chubby hand and poking her cheek as though that would accomplish something.

Arkytior swatted his hand away and gave him a pointed look. “No. Mum says I’m the first child born on Gallifrey in six hundred years.”

“Then you’re a freak,” he declared.

She inhaled sharply, and he turned, astonished to see her lower lip trembling and tears spilling down her round face. The petal-less flower in her hands dropped onto the red grass as she stood up angrily, gold eyes now glowing like fiery embers. It was so captivating that he almost forgot he’d said something rude until she was shouting. “ _I am not a freak! You’re a freak_!” 

“I am _not_!” he scowled, all shame at his rudeness flying out the window. 

Standing up with a sniff, she said loudly, “I don’t want to be friends with you anymore! I was going to be friends with you but now I hate you, Theta Sigma!” 

Theta flinched back, tears pricking at his eyes too. Lower lip sticking out in a pout, he stared hard at the ground by her feet, where he spotted an untouched arkytior flower by her right shoe. Bending down and picking it up with a scarlet face, both from embarrassment and at the effort of holding back tears, he held it out to her and said grudgingly, “Here. ‘M sorry, Arkytior.”

Wiping her nose with the back of her sleeve, Arkytior’s eyes flickered back to its normal colour, and she straightened up a bit and took the flower. “‘Kay, I forgive you.”

Theta smirked triumphantly, until he heard his mother’s shouting across the plains of red grass, her voice echoing through the nearby Mountains of Solace and Solitude. “I’ve gotta go.”

Arkytior’s grip on the flower tightened, and though her face was still splotched with tears and her nose was running she smiled at him. “Can I see you tomorrow?”

He nodded seriously. “I’ll come back to the tree.”

And he did. For centuries to come.

*

Theta wrung his hands nervously, ever so often glancing at the empty plain. It was four years since he’d met Arkytior, whom he’d considered ever since to be his very best friend (although he’d never admit it to Koschei, or anyone for that matter), and two years since he’d looked into the Untempered Schism and ran like a coward. Today was her day to look— they’d taken her from her House of Droch Mac Tíre just two hours ago. He’d promised the day before to wait at the Weeping Tree — as they’d named it when they were both still chubby babies — so here he was, playing with the Seal of Rassilon on his chain, which indicated his position in the Academy.

As the third hour passed by in a flurry of gentle breezes and silent panicking, Theta started to truly worry for his friend. Koschei had changed the day he’d looked into the Untempered Schism, and he didn’t want that to happen to Arkytior. Theta had also heard rumours of some Time Lords going mad when they look into the Schism. He tried to imagine being friends with an insane Arkytior, which made a strangled feeling well up in his chest. 

“Theta!” 

Her lilting voice echoed through the open fields, making him startle so badly he jumped up and hit his head on a low-hanging branch. Theta ignored her laugh of amusement and wrung his hands again as she sprinted up to him and gave him a huge hug. “I did it, Theta! I’m gonna be a Time Lady!” 

“What did you do?” he asked, licking his lips nervously as they sank back down into the grass holding hands. “Did you run?”

Her gold irises flashed with excitement. Leaning back leisurely, she flashed him the first ever tongue-in-teeth grin that he could remember. “Yeah. I ran.”

They beamed at each other. That was the day, he decided sometime in the future, that he most likely fell in love with her.

*

Seventy-three years later, Arkytior and Theta were in the back of the lecture room, giggling silently behind their textbooks written in High Gallifreyan as they telepathically sent imagined pictures of their professor, Borusa, in his under things, made possible by their hands that were secretly intertwined underneath the desk. Mortimus and Magnus were smirking at them, Drax was snickering and Ushas was rolling her eyes from the corner of the classroom. Koschei echoed their sentiments with a smirk and an eye roll of his own before tearing off a piece of gold parchment, scribbling something quickly and, with a glance in Borusa’s direction, crumpling it up and sending it in the direction of Theta’s head. 

Theta’s laugh was interrupted when Koschei’s paper struck his ear, making Arkytior snort. Mock-scowling at her, Theta snatched the piece of paper off the floor before Borusa saw and opened it.

_Hurry up and make out with her, before you both explode from sexual tension. ~ K._

Theta frowned at it, turned towards his friend and hissed, “What does ‘make out’ mean?” 

Overhearing this, Arkytior snorted again, this time quite audibly, causing Professor Borusa to stop his lecture, scowl and turn around. Everybody sat up straight, schooling his or her expressions into ones of utter seriousness. Borusa narrowed his eyes at Theta in particular, making his mask nearly falter, and said loudly, “Silence or I’ll have you all writing the Gallifreyan alphabet three hundred times. And I mean _High_ Gallifreyan, not Circular,” he added threateningly. 

Once he turned his back and resumed his lecture, Theta sent Arkytior another false glare, and she fluttered her lashes at him endearingly, making his glare drop off in a haze at once. Koschei collapsed into uncontrollable laughter at that, loud and untempered, making those who were lost in their own world jump and those who were paying attention scowl. Arkytior and Theta joined him soon after as Professor Borusa whirled around and glared at Koschei, who ended up falling off his chair. 

In the end, everybody had to write the High Gallifreyan alphabet, with its two hundred and ninety-three letters, not three hundred times but six hundred. That still didn’t stop Arkytior and Theta from sending each other images of their professor in a woman’s lacy nightgown. 

*

“Ugh.”

“What?”

“Look over there.”

A young Academy girl called Prudence glanced over at her friend’s request and turned her button nose up in the air in mutual disgust. “Ugh.”

“That’s what I said,” grimaced Hope. 

“That Theta Sigma and Arkytior,” Faith exclaimed, shaking her head in their direction. “The way they look at each other is like two apes who want to mate.”

“Arkytior _was_ born, not Loomed,” Prudence said with a shrug. “That gives her an excuse, sort of. But Theta Sigma…” 

All three of them watched with disgusted looks at Theta and Arkytior in the distance, seated under an arch in the Capitol just outside their lecture hall, holding hands like they were teenage apes ‘going out’. Arkytior was chattering away without any apparent care in the world, tracing tiny circles on Theta’s palm; Theta’s whole face went slack every time she sent him a tongue-touched smile — which was almost every ten minutes — and the way he looked at her was soppy and lovesick.

“Look at Theta’s face,” Koschei snickered from behind the three girls, making them turn around. 

“You’re friends with them, Koschei,” Faith said. “What’s wrong with them? Theta Sigma always looks at her like she’s a goddess incarnate and Arkytior’s always touching him in some way. And — look — he’s kissing her head!”

And he was, nudging the side of her temple with the tip of his nose, lips brushing just over her ear, the most serene smile on his face. The three girls grimaced yet again, and Koschei even joined them. “He’s in love with her.”

Hope gawked. “Like, _love_ love? They’re not randy humans!”

“That’s debatable,” Prudence snorted. “He looks like he wants to… _do it_ with her.”

“He does,” Koschei grinned. “He wants to do nasty human things to her.”

“ _Koschei_!” wailed the three girls in unison, Faith even choking. 

Koschei barked out a laugh at their expense. “They’re leaving,” pointed out Hope. Her mouth dropped open as Arkytior bent to pick up her book. “Oh… dear Rassilon, he’s staring at her _backside_!” 

“He’s probably stared at a lot more than that,” Koschei supplied, emphasising it with a suggestive eyebrow waggle, and the three girls squealed again.

“What’s Koschei doing to those three girls, Theta?” Arkytior asked, when she heard their shrieks and turned to see them all clutching at each other. 

“Probably telling them that dirty joke about the Time Lord and the Altuvian stripper,” Theta said, smirking at her when she made a face.

“Ugh, let’s go in case he decides to come over here and repeat it,” Arkytior shuddered, giving his hand a squeeze. “Heard you visited the Medusa Cascade with Koschei and Ushas last week.”

He nodded excitedly, eyes lighting up. “One day, Arkytior, we’re going to visit the Medusa Cascade together. It’s gorgeous. We’ll have a picnic there.”

Arkytior laughed. “In the Medusa Cascade? Okay, but we’ll have to secure the food to the basket or it’ll float out.”

“Ha-ha,” he said sarcastically. “I meant in a time capsule. We’ll have one of our own and we’ll have a picnic in it in front of the Medusa Cascade. And a nebula. And above Skaro, if you want.”

“Eurgh, not that last one.” With a sideways hug, she said, “See you at the Weeping Tree before dinner?”

He sent her what was probably a soppy smile. “Yeah.”

*

It’d been well over a hundred years since Theta met Arkytior, and a little over that since he’d stumbled across his terrifying feelings for her, and he’d had enough.

For the first few decades he shoved it to the side, trying to ignore the waves of delight he felt when they skipped school together and she held his hand, ‘accidentally’ bumped into him, laid her head on his shoulder or even laughed at something he said; trying to pretend his insides didn’t flare up with something curiously reminiscent to fire in his stomach whenever her tongue appeared at the corner of her mouth. 

Theta ended up grudgingly accepting they existed when she fell asleep next to him in the grass, beneath the Weeping Tree. He’d spent the first ten minutes combing his fingers through her hair, then experimentally lying down next to her and holding her close, with his leg tossed over hers and his face buried in her neck. It screamed ‘right’— although that didn’t stop him from scrambling up and pretending to be thinking when she woke. 

Every night since, for over half a century, he went to bed pretending she was there, dreaming she was lying beside him in varying states of undress. At the beginning he was terrified— he snuck into the Library at night so nobody would see him, perusing various forbidden textbooks for answers as to why he felt these things. Theta stumbled across the definition of ‘make out’ — he’d cursed Koschei to the Howling in his mind — but couldn’t find one for ‘do it’, much to his chagrin. 

His only logical conclusion was that he was the first future Time Lord to fall in love and ‘lust’ in centuries. At least, the first documented one. 

He worried something was wrong with him. People whispered about his relationship with Arkytior when they thought he wasn’t listening, and he saw looks of disapproval he got from his fellow classmates— Koschei himself was starting to drift away from him, as were Ushas, Magnus and Mortimus, who no longer wanted to skip class with him and Arkytior. He was even stopped in the Capitol by a near-graduate student, an unpopular but lovely girl named Romanadvoratrelundar, who advised him not to ‘put on such a display’ with his feelings towards Arkytior. He’d told her in all good nature to sod off, but felt bad about it later.

Arkytior noticed as well, but didn’t understand. Whenever Theta would show his disappointment at his friends’ newfound distance, she’d cheer him up with an encouraging smile, or a story about what they’d do when they graduated the Academy, or even her silent presence as they snuggled underneath the Weeping Tree at twilight. 

They skipped class alone now, which he preferred on some days. This was one of those days, as she told him something she’d read about their new favourite planet (Earth) and idly wove pink daisies into her hair. “And in the late 1400s, they had this bloke called Leonardo da Vinci,” she was saying as she braided another daisy into her hair, oblivious to the unbridled look of adoration Theta was sending her. “When we get our symbiotic nuclei, we should go and meet him.”

“Hm,” Theta hummed noncommittally.

“Theta Sigma, are you listening?” Arkytior demanded, giving him a look of mock affront.

“Yes,” he said, sitting up and trying to look attentive.

“What was I talkin’ about then?”

“Er… Michelangelo?” 

She scowled at him, for real this time. “You were close.”

“Sorry,” he supplied, holding out his arms in invitation and looking hopeful. 

She obediently scooted over next to him and snuggled into his hold, sighing in contentment when she rested her head in the crook of his neck and he placed a gentle kiss there, around the wreath of daisies. “What were you thinking about?”

Theta blushed crimson and wracked his brain for a topic, any topic, but in some split second in between he’d decided he’d had enough of dancing around and pretending the heated looks he sent her were something else. Tightening his hold on her in case she decided to run away, he inhaled deeply to steel himself and blurted out eloquently, “You.”

She giggled and gave his hand a squeeze. “How can you be thinkin’ of me if I’m right here?”

“I always think of you,” he admitted quietly.

Theta felt her blush on his shoulder. “Always?”

“Always,” he declared firmly, gaining a little more confidence. “Even… even when I dream.”

She was quiet, and he glanced down at her worriedly only to see a gentle smile on her face, which was about as red as his own. “I dream of you too, Theta.”

He suppressed a beam and failed. Her admittance fuelled his upcoming declaration. “But I don’t _just_ dream of you. I dream of… doing odd things with you.”

Arkytior’s head lifted from his shoulder, and Theta in a panic prepared to grab her should she decide to try and leave, but instead she stared at him with wide eyes filled with earnest and… dare he say, _hope_? “Like what?” Her voice was a whisper.

“Like…”

He was going to explain, but her teeth were worrying her lower lip, and though he’d never before found that all that tantalising, he took it as initiative to demonstrate instead of explain. Tangling his free hand into her hair, he tilted his head like the many books he’d read in secret had instructed and pressed his mouth against hers. Her eyes fluttered closed and she opened her mouth at once, making Theta wonder if she’d read the same books that he had. He stopped caring when her hand travelled around his neck and traced lovely patterns on a sensitive spot near his nape, making gooseflesh erupt in waves down his spine. 

With all the grace of a stumbling fifty-year-old, Theta scooped her with his arms so she was lying down in the grass, forcing their lips to part for a moment as he crawled on top of her. “What…?” Arkytior breathed out, confusion clear in her eyes, which were glowing like embers again.

“Just trust me,” he insisted, sounding just as breathless. “It’ll hurt for a little bit, but then it’ll feel good.”

She nodded, trust blazing in her eyes behind the golden fire. It was all instinct and sloppy thrusts and clashing tongues, none of the finesse Theta had read about present, but when they were both crying out in pleasure, finesse was the least of his worries. As they lay naked in the scarlet grass, the breeze wrapping them in a pleasantly warm embrace, Theta could only care about holding her again, doing this again. 

It was all right, though. They had forever, after all.

*

The three girls Prudence, Hope and Faith spotted them making love one day— thankfully not under the Weeping Tree, but at the base of the Mountains of Solace and Solitude (which was a stupid name, since they couldn’t be left alone to save their lives). The consequences weren’t too dire— they were scolded profusely for their behaviour reminiscent to ‘lesser species’ but Theta received no punishment. Arkytior, however, was set back a whole half a century in the Academy, used as an example to the younger students. 

Now that she wasn’t in his class anymore, and the only company he had was Koschei’s almost menacing smirks, Theta found himself skipping more and more often to meet her by the Weeping Tree. They couldn’t risk being seen again, in case somebody saw them again and they got punished more severely, so they contained their activities to their special spot that nobody knew of. He voiced his frustration that he wouldn’t get to graduate with her, but she assured him that, once she left the Academy, they’d have the picnic in front of the Medusa Cascade like he’d promised. 

Twenty years later, he was standing with the rest of his Prydonian classmates — including Koschei, Ushas, Mortimus, Magnus, the scatterbrained Drax and the three girls that had sent Arkytior back fifty years — at his Academy Graduation Ceremony, where Borusa was droning on about how proud he was of his students (not that it showed on his face). Arkytior watched from the background, beaming at him to try and cheer him up, but all he could think about was getting this over with so he could spend the rest of the day moping in her lap. As much as he’d longed to leave school, he’d wanted to do it with her by his side. He told himself that he would wait for her until she graduated, doing who the hell knows what until he could whisk her away to every corner of the universe. 

And when he chose his new name, he did it with one thought in mind— the thought of seeing the universe. He would explore the vastness of it, and help people, and she would be with him the whole time.

“What is your name?”

Standing tall in his red and gold-lined robes, he declared, “I am the Doctor.”

*

The Doctor all but dragged himself up the hill, hearts heavy and expression just as weighted. His feet moved on their own towards Arkytior’s waiting form, nestled in the crook of the trunk of the Weeping Tree, desperate for her comfort. She held out her arms at once, and he sank into her hold, wanting to be immortalised there. Stroking his now greying hair and breathing in deeply, she said forlornly, “You heard about Koschei.”

He nodded into the pillow of her breasts, ignoring the urge to paint them with kisses like he had for over a century now. “He’s not Koschei anymore. He’s _the Master_ ,” the Doctor added, spitting the words out with venom. 

“I don’t understand how, after everything, he could be…” 

“Evil?” he finished for her, finally giving into his urge and placing a gentle kiss over the swell of her cleavage. “I didn’t think he could hate us for being us, but he did. For ages, I think.”

“It’s not our fault Ko— the Master started doin’ terrible things,” she said, grimacing at the egotistical name he’d chosen for himself. 

“No, I suppose not,” the Doctor agreed, pushing aside her Seal of Rassilon chain and tugging down her shirt so he could properly reach her breasts. “Still, we could have helped him.”

“He didn’t want our help,” Arkytior pointed out, humming at his ministrations. 

“Hm,” the Doctor mumbled dismissively against her breast. 

Arkytior smiled down at his face, trailing a finger down his cheek. “You’ve gotten wrinkles.”

“So have you,” he countered, eyeing the laugh lines around her mouth and the crinkles around her eyes. “And there’s some grey in your hair.”

“Wonder what it feels like to regenerate,” she mused, as he returned his attention to her breast. “Won’t be for another two hundred years or so, though, barring accidents.”

“Hm,” he repeated vaguely.

“I saw old Borusa do it in the Capitol, after he came back from the battle with the vampires,” Arkytior said. “It looked… explosive.”

“Old Borusa blew up?” the Doctor snorted, collapsing into laughter. “Wish I could have seen that! I can’t tell you how many times I imagined slipping something into his drink that would do just that.”

As they shared a volley of amused laughter, there were no more mentions of the Master’s evil endeavours against Gallifrey or other species in the universe.

*

She was there when they handed him his granddaughter, less than a year later. The Doctor had always told himself that, when he and Arkytior had children, they would be born like she was, so they could be as perfect as her— to hell with scientific engineering, he’d said firmly. But it seemed the people handling the Looms had other ideas, because now they were handing him this unbelievably tiny girl wrapped up in a fleece blanket, topped with a puff of reddish-brown hair. As he simply stared down at her, she stared back, eyes wide and mouth puckered in an ‘o’ shape like she was trying to figure him out.

“She’s so lovely,” Arkytior beamed through her own tears, hugging his side firmly. “What’ll you name her?”

“Arkytior,” flew out of his mouth without a moment’s thought.

She burst into delighted tears at once, grip on him tightening to the point of pain. He chuckled, a smile mixed in with his astonishment as he continued to stare down at his granddaughter. “Marry me.”

Arkytior sniffled. “What?”

“Marry me,” he repeated, staring with the same happy, wild shock but at her now. “Be her grandmother.”

*

“Grandfather, Grandmother! I’m home.”

The Doctor and Arkytior turned towards their granddaughter, who was waddling towards him looking downtrodden. Her hair was now curling around her ears and her nose was becoming upturned. “Whatever’s the matter, my dear?”

“I did a bad thing when they took me to look into the Untempered Schism,” she whispered, looking ashamed.

“Whatever did you do?”

“I ran away.”

Little Arkytior was shocked when her grandfather and her grandmother both beamed at her and echoed, “That’s wonderful!”

She blinked. “How is that wonderful?”

“We ran too.”

*

Twenty-five years later was when the Doctor was called into the Capitol to meet the Lord President Pandak III, who announced to his horror that he was being arranged to marry a woman named Briar from the House of Brightshore.

“I refuse.”

“You cannot refuse.”

“Oh no?” the Doctor fumed, glaring at him. “Watch me.”

The Lord President glared right back, towering above him in all his egg-white robes. “If you refuse, you shall be banished.”

“Then I am banished,” the Doctor said loudly, neglecting purposely to tell him that he was already married. “I will not marry this woman— not when you are Lord President, not _ever_. Good day to you, _sir_!”

Ignoring the Lord President’s demand that he ‘get back here this instant’, the Doctor stormed out of the Capitol. A plan was forming in his mind, a dangerously reckless and brilliant plan, one he should have thought of ages ago. He stormed back to the home he shared with his granddaughter and his soon-to-be-wife, finding Arkytior teaching the smaller, now womanly Arkytior how to bake Earth scones. 

“What’s the matter?” Arkytior said, when she saw his expression. “What did the Lord President want?”

“Something I shall never give him,” the Doctor declared. “Pack your things— the both of you. We’re leaving Gallifrey.”

“What about our studies, Grandfather?” his granddaughter asked around a mouthful of fingers as she sucked off batter. 

“You shall continue your studies on an Earth school,” the Doctor told her, grinning as Arkytior’s face lit up. “But for now, we must acquire a ride. I saw the loveliest type-40 time capsule in the Capitol’s museum…”

*

“What’s a ‘TARDIS’, Grandfather?”

“It’s not called ‘TARDIS’, Arkytior,” explained the Doctor, as he began circling the rather plain console and examining. “Navigation’s a bit off, but we can fix you up, eh old girl?”

“Are you talking to the TARDIS, Grandfather?” little Arkytior insisted, shoving her pixie hair out of her eyes as she leaned against the computer console. “Is the TARDIS a she?”

“I like that, actually,” the older Arkytior said happily, giving the wall a loving pat. “Taaaaar-DIS. We’ll call you TARDIS, okay?”

The ship hummed delightedly at them, the first answer they’d gotten out of her since they’d come aboard. “Here we go, then,” the Doctor announced, punching in coordinates. “Earth, fifty-fourth century! You’ll get a grand education here, Arkytior. Which reminds me, you’ll both need new names,” he added in the direction of the older Arkytior.

“I want to be Susan!” said their granddaughter at once. “I read it in a book in the Library.”

“Susan, then,” the Doctor beamed at her.

The older Arkytior pouted. “I like Arkytior. Somebody special gave it to me.”

They took a moment to beam at each other like a pair of idiots. “I understand, but it is a rather unusual name.”

Her pout deepened into a scowl— whether it was of disapproval or contemplation, the Doctor didn’t know. “How about… Rose? S’not really giving up ‘Arkytior’,” she added, grinning. “I’ll be Rose… er… Tyler.”

“I adore it,” the Doctor said happily, taking his hand off the controls and reeling her into a hug. “Rose Tyler.” Giving her a quick but thorough snog that had Susan looking away in embarrassment, he flipped the switch on the TARDIS console dramatically and said grandly, “Onward, to the fifty-fourth century!” 

The TARDIS landed with a bump, and the three of them linked arms as the doors flew open. Rose peeked her head out and grinned at the disgruntled-looking Doctor. “1963. You were close.”

“No he wasn’t,” said Susan confusedly, causing Rose to burst into laughter.

*

Three years later, Rose was relaxing in the library reading a magazine from 1966. “Did you know a dog named Pickles found a stolen FIFA World Cup Trophy in a newspaper last month?” she said conversationally, when the Doctor came in seeking her company.

“I don’t care,” he said happily, plopping himself next to her and pulling her into his hold. “When does Susan get home from school again?”

“Not for another two hours,” Rose smirked, setting down her magazine when she realised what he was implying. “What d’you want to do until then?”

“We could read,” he suggested, already manoeuvring himself so that he was straddling her. 

“We could watch telly,” she added, starting to unbutton his brown overcoat. 

“We could talk about that dog, Cucumber or whatever it was called,” he grinned.

“It was ‘Pickles’,” she snickered.

The console letting out a loud beeping noise startled them both to the point where they fell off the couch and tumbled onto the ground. “Well that was graceful,” the Doctor muttered, hoisting himself up and pulling Rose with him. “What the hell was that?”

“Someone’s on the monitor,” Rose pointed.

There was a woman on the monitor, with a gentle face lined with worry and pale brown hair. “Hello Doctor, Arkytior.”

“It’s Rose now,” she said warily, grabbing onto the Doctor’s hand.

“Rose, then,” the woman said. “My name is Romanadvoratrelundar. It’s been a while since we saw each other,” she added, when the Doctor started. “Gallifrey is summoning all Time Lords home.”

The Doctor snorted when she said ‘home’. “We were banished, remember?”

“It doesn’t matter anymore,” she said. “The Daleks have declared war on Gallifrey. We need everybody to fight.”

*

Hundreds upon hundreds of years later, everything was in ruins. The Doctor stood amongst the burning city of Arcadia holding a still hot gun, staring at the message he’d left in the wall. 

_No More._

They’d fought together for the majority of the Time War. She’d been glorious, somehow finding room for compassion even in the midst of all the burning and bloodshed. _No more_. She’d gone into the Capitol at the request of the Lord President to aid in ‘private matters’, as the Lord President had called them, but had never returned. It was fifty years later, fifty years of searching for her desperately as though he were dying and had lost his only salvation, fifty _goddamn_ years of fighting only because he knew she would want it, because he knew that if he didn’t the Daleks would win and there would be even less hope of finding her. 

_No more_. He was done. Rose was gone, Susan was gone, children were burning and there was only one thing to destroy the Daleks. And it was lying in the Omega Vaults.

*

“How, how do you work?” the Doctor muttered, as he hovered over the clockwork box thing. “Why is there never a big red button?” A scuffling noise sounded outside the door of the shack he resided in. Frowning, the Doctor abandoned the clockwork box and opened the door. “Hello? Is somebody out there?”

“It’s nothing.”

He whirled around, eyes landing _her_. She couldn’t possibly be real — all of her age was gone, and she looked as she did when they were nobody but Theta Sigma and Arkytior, fellow Academy students — but he didn’t care. His breath rattled out of him in one go and he took a longing step towards her, hand outstretched. “Arkytior?”

“Sor’ of,” she said gaily, smiling at him, golden eyes twinkling. “I’m called a lot of things, actually, so I’m not really sure. But Arkytior’s definitely one of them.”

He backed up a step, remembering the tales of the Moment. “You’re just the interface to the Moment.” Leaning against the wall, the Doctor sank onto the dirty floor and held his head in his hands. “You’re not her.”

She blew air threw puckered lips, contemplating. “You’re wrong,” she said in a singsong voice. “I _am_ the Moment’s interface… but I’m also her. Arkytior. Rose Tyler. Whatever my name is.” 

“How?” he said, still unwilling to believe it was her.

“Don’t remember much, me,” Rose said almost conversationally, with the air of one commenting on the weather. “Headed out to the Capitol to see what Romana wanted. Think I found her tied up in the Omega Vaults. Oh!” she exclaimed, slapping her knee. “I remember! They put me in the Moment ‘cos they needed someone to make the decision should the War turn badly. Not that it hasn’t already,” she scowled. “The Moment never had a consciousness— that was just a rumour to keep people from trying to steal it. No good stealin’ a weapon that can talk back and refuse to blow up!”

The Doctor lifted his head out of his hands and stared at her. “Then… they _trapped_ you in there? They took you from me and put you in that goddamn thing so you could make the decisions they didn’t want to make?”

“Yep!” she said, beaming. 

Her smile never faded, not even when he heaved himself up off the ground and stomped towards her, eyes radiating with fury. “I’m getting you out of there.”

“You can’t do that,” she said airily, looking at her nails. “Not yet.”

“ _Why not_?!” he fumed, stomping his foot.

Rose hopped off the interface, where lo and behold, a big red button like a shining jewel was emerging. “First you have to choose.” All teasing was gone from her face. “Will you destroy Gallifrey to save the universe… and me?”

His face fell back into its original despondence, eyes dating from the button to her. “For you… I’d do anything.”

He sank to his knees in front of the box, hands curling around the giant button. As he inhaled deeply, shut his eyes and prepared to push, Rose’s voice echoed through his head. “No.”

The Doctor opened his eyes and turned to her, hands still on the button. “What?”

“There’s another way,” she told him, serenely but earnestly. “There’s always another way.”

“No there isn’t,” he argued. “There—” The Doctor stopped himself as inspiration hit him like a ton of bricks to the head. “— _is_ another way,” he breathed in awe, whipping his hands off the button. “I could gather my future selves, freeze Gallifrey in a single moment in time, and send it to another universe!” Then he paused. “I won’t remember this, will I?”

Rose shook her head at him. “Neither will I. The timelines won’t be in sync, so we can’t retain it. We’ll be the only two Time Lords left in the whole universe, thinking we destroyed Gallifrey. No Susan, no home.”

“Susan,” he whispered forlornly, before shaking his head in determination. “We’ll get through it. Just as long as we’re together.” 

She beamed at him, golden eyes glowing. “Together, then.”

*

He woke on his back in the TARDIS, in a sea of rubble. Coughing out ash, the Doctor sat up and looked around, letting out an angry noise at the state of his TARDIS. Whichever Dalek had done this was going to be blown to high heaven—

Dalek. Time War. _Rose_.

“Ro—” he started to cry out, before spotting her lying some few feet away, covered in dust and unconscious. Somehow she was there… faint bits of memory faded back to him, of he and Rose with the Moment, in a shack somewhere at the edge of the Continent of Wild Endeavour. “Rose!” the Doctor said urgently, crawling over to her and checking to see if her hearts were beating. “My Arkytior, wake up!” 

She mumbled something unintelligible and coughed up a significant amount of dust, sitting up and being scooped straight into his hold. “What the hell?” she choked out around a throat gritty with ash. 

“You’re okay,” he murmured, both to console her and himself, holding her close and rocking her gently. “We’re okay.”

Despite his words she panicked as vague memories returned to her as well. “Gallifrey—”

Their eyes met, both of them channelling their despondence through stare alone, Rose’s eyes filled with tears. “It’s gone.”

“We killed it,” she whimpered. “Oh my God. We killed them all.”

She sobbed into his dirty coat and he held her, staving off tears of his own. Oh, Romana. Oh, Susan. “There now,” he tried soothing her around the lump in his throat. “It’s all right. We’re together.”

“My Doctor,” she cried, clinging to him. 

“We’ll make it,” he promised, tangling his hands in her hair. “So long as we’re together, I promise we’ll make it.”

And he kept his promise.

**Author's Note:**

>  **Beta: natural-blues**.  
>  **All my fics can be found on fanfiction.net, teaspoon and tumblr**.  
>  A/N: Arkytior's House was called 'Droch Mac Tíre' which means Bad Wolf in Irish :) If some of you don't know, the aforementioned student Ushas is the Rani's Academy nickname. Mortimus was the Meddling Monk's, and Magnus was the War Chief's. Borusa was a mentioned Time Lord and the First Doctor's teacher, along with the rest of the Deca. Romanadvoratrelundar is, of course, Romana's full name. The 'symbeotic nuclei' were the part of Time Lord cells that allowed safe time travel. And lastly, the thing with the dog named Pickles really happened XD  
> EDIT: Since I'm totally dissatisfied with my War Doctor fic for Forever and More, I decided to change this story's Doctor to the First Doctor instead of the War Doctor and write a new Forever and More fic. It works so much better from that perspective, I think, but I'm going to definitely make up for it with the new one :3


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